An Unexpected Encounter
by aikaterini
Summary: Stranded in the middle of the moors, Pride and Prejudice's spirited heroine, Elizabeth Bennet, now Elizabeth Darcy, runs into none other than the infamous anti-hero of "Wuthering Heights."
1. It's Me, Lizzy

Disclaimer: Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights do not belong to me. Pride and Prejudice belongs to the late and great Jane Austen and Wuthering Heights belongs to Emily Brontë.

Author's Note: This is another cross-over with a what-if scenario. What if Elizabeth had actually met Heathcliff while lost in the moors? Would she find him fascinating, romantic, attractive...or simply deranged? Read and see.

"An Unexpected Encounter"

Chapter One: It's Me, Lizzy

The wind howled as it streaked across the moor. A lone figure, tightly clutching her cloak around her, stood huddled against the harsh landscape. As the wind raced past her, she shivered and clutched her cloak even more tightly. She looked up at the sky, as if hoping that its multitude of stars could direct her home. But unlike other nights, the swirls of constellations here provided no comfort or direction. This place was truly one of nightmares.

Elizabeth Darcy was not pleased. An hour ago, she had been traveling with her husband by horse across what had first seemed to be green pastures and hillsides. A quick change in the weather had occurred, which resulted in the sky turning dark and the wind picking up speed. Her horse, which had only been recently broken, had immediately started and then bolted. Ignoring her shouts and those of her husband, the horse had galloped across the hillside as if possessed by a demon, with Elizabeth hanging onto the reins for dear life. Her husband had followed in pursuit, but the horse's shattered nerves had lent it considerably more speed than his stallion, reducing Fitzwilliam to nothing more than a pinprick in the distance. By the time Elizabeth's steed had finally halted, she could no longer see her husband or recognize her surroundings.

As if to add insult to injury, the horse's stop proved to be temporary. It had pawed at the ground and bucked at the air, this time with Elizabeth holding onto its neck. She had tried to soothe the horse with quieting words in order to give herself enough time to safely dismount. Once she had accomplished this arduous task, the horse had restlessly tossed its head and bolted again, leaving her behind in the dust.

It was her fault, really, Elizabeth reflected ruefully. Fitzwilliam had warned her about the horse's inexperience, but she had been determined to ride it all the same. The very moment she had first seen the horse, it had seemed to challenge her with its bold, rebellious gaze. Besides, it had been a fine animal: well-muscled with a glossy black coat and bright, intelligent eyes. She had insisted on riding it and had paid the price for her stubbornness.

Now she was all alone in the middle of nowhere and it was _cold_. Elizabeth clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. It was cold and dark and there was no sign of people or civilization anywhere. She supposed that this wilderness might seem attractive to some, with its rugged, untamed beauty. She would have gladly roamed the moors when she was younger, but not when the sky was black and the wind was howling. Right now, all Elizabeth wanted to do was to find her husband and travel back to Pemberley, back to a warm house and a warm bed.

But how could she find him? She was utterly lost. She had never ventured into these parts before and very likely never would have, had it not been for that confounded horse. Her teeth clenched even more. That monstrous brute, where the devil was he?

"Cathy!" she heard someone shout. She turned around, at once perplexed and relieved. At least she now had company.

A gentleman was running up to her. "Cathy!" he shouted again. Once he was a few feet away from her and had gotten a better look at her face, however, he stopped short.

Elizabeth hurriedly approached him. "I'm afraid you have me mistaken, sir," she said through teeth gritted from the cold. "My name is Elizabeth Darcy. Pray, have you seen my husband?"

He drew back from her. He was a wild-looking young man, with fierce eyes and a rather dark complexion. His clothes were as unkempt as his hair. For a fleeting moment, he reminded Elizabeth of her wild stallion.

"No, madam," said the gentleman coolly, looking rather angry at being caught in a mistake. "I have seen no one yet. You are the first person I have come across tonight in these parts."

Unsettled by his disheveled appearance, Elizabeth nonetheless put her apprehension aside and implored, "If you would be so kind, sir, would you please help me find him? We had been riding together for a while, but then my horse got quite a scare and bolted. I lost my husband in the chase and then my horse. I am afraid that I do not know this area well, and I would dearly love some companionship, especially on a night like this."

He merely gave her a hostile stare. Elizabeth felt a new sudden wave of apprehension, but also of annoyance. Out of all the people she could have come across and it had to be this ill-mannered, unyielding ruffian? She pressed on, "I heard you call me Cathy, sir. Are you looking for her?"

His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed together. "Yes,"

"Then," Elizabeth suggested, watching him steadily, "would it not make sense for us to go together, to assist each other in finding the person we seek?"

"I do not require your assistance, Mrs. Darcy," said the man coldly. "I have traveled these moors since I was a boy. As you said before, you do not know these parts."

Elizabeth's temper was beginning to rise. "Then if you have such an intimate knowledge of the land, help me find my husband!" She softened her voice. "Please, sir."

The man looked at her steadily. After a few minutes, he sighed irritably and tossed his head as restlessly as her stallion had. "Very well. Follow me."

Eager to find her husband, Elizabeth hastily obeyed. The wind had eased somewhat, and as a result, the cold did not feel as bothersome. She looked up at her companion. His gaze was focused ahead of them and his face was grim. "Pardon me, sir," she said suddenly. "But I do not believe that you introduced yourself."

"It does not matter," was the brusque reply.

Elizabeth felt another stab of annoyance. Had her husband ever been this uncivil? Eyes narrowing in anger, she retorted, "I was at least courteous enough to introduce myself, even if it was to clear up a case of mistaken identity. I believe that you should return the favor, sir."

He scowled at her. "My name is Heathcliff," he conceded gruffly.

_Was that so difficult? _Elizabeth thought archly. Aloud, she inquired, "If you will not mind me asking, Mr. Heathcliff, who is this Cathy of whom you search?"

_Evidently he does mind_, she thought as she saw his hands clench and unclench.

His eyes shifted to the ground as he said, "Her real name is Catherine Earnshaw. She and I grew up together in Wuthering Heights."

_Wuthering Heights? _Elizabeth wondered, bewildered. She had never heard of such a place. Heathcliff looked over at her and caught her confused expression.

"It's an estate over yonder," he explained, jabbing his thumb in the direction of which they had come. "I had just departed from there to search for her."

"Oh," Elizabeth said thoughtfully as they walked on. "Is she your sister?"

He shook his head. "No. Her father brought me to the house when I was a child. He found me starving on the streets with barely a roof over my head and brought me home with him. He treated me as a son."

Elizabeth looked up at him, startled. Her opinion of her companion was now beginning to change. "That was very kind of him," she said hesitatingly. "But you did grow up together as brother and sister, did you not?"

"In the beginning, yes," admitted Heathcliff. "But not now," his eyes smoldered. "No, we are far more than that."

Elizabeth did not fail to notice the intense expression that flitted across his face. "Well, it just so happens that I have a sister named Catherine," she said conversationally, "but we all call her Kitty, not Cathy…" she trailed off, a little disconcerted by the look in Heathcliff's eyes. "So, Catherine is your wife now?" she began uncertainly.

An exceedingly bitter smile soon formed on Heathcliff's features. "No,"

Elizabeth bit her lip in embarrassment. "So, the two of you are…lovers?"

"We were," returned Heathcliff harshly. "Until…" his fists clenched. "Until she…" It was then that his entire countenance darkened to such a frightening degree that Elizabeth felt compelled to recoil from him. "God damn him! God damn her! Damn both of them!"

Elizabeth was quite alarmed by this abrupt transformation. "Mr. Heathcliff?"

"She is mine!" he thundered, stopping in his tracks. "She is my life, my soul! She is the only woman I have ever loved and the only woman I shall love!"

Elizabeth stood by the side, speechless. She was so unused to such naked, passionate declarations of any kind, let alone those of love. While she and her husband had indeed traded passionate jabs and endearments to each other, it had never reached this degree. Not even Fitzwilliam's shocking first proposal had been as disturbing as this.

"And yet she betrayed me!" Heathcliff continued to rant, as if unaware of Elizabeth's presence. "She knows of my love for her, yet she left me! Abandoned me for that simpering, spineless coward! For that weak shell of a man! How dare she?!"

Elizabeth did not know if she should stand there and let him fully release his raging fury or interfere. She spoke very softly, "I am very sorry to hear that, Mr. Heathcliff. I truly am."

He ignored her, eyes blazing. "And that useless milksop has the gall to steal my Catherine," he growled. "If it were not for her, I would beat him to a bloody pulp."

_Dear Lord_, Elizabeth thought in alarm. _If this is his usual behavior, I am not surprised that she left him. _She said quickly, "You mentioned that her father took you in, Mr. Heathcliff. What are his views on this matter?"

"He has no views," Heathcliff said harshly, resuming his pace. She hurried to keep up with him. "He is dead."

_Was it because you beat him to a bloody pulp?_ Elizabeth thought sarcastically. Aloud, she said consolingly, "That is very unfortunate. I am sorry for your loss."

Heathcliff shook his head. "You would be sorrier, still, Mrs. Darcy, if you knew the true extent of the impact his death had on me."

"What was it?" she inquired.

Heathcliff looked at the ground again, his fast pace losing some of its speed. His anger seemed to have died down, only to be replaced by brooding regret. "Mr. Earnshaw was the best man I have ever known," he said quietly. "He truly did treat me as a son. As a matter of fact, he even preferred me over his real son, Hindley. Due to this, I would forever earn Hindley's unceasing hatred and envy."

Despite becoming absorbed with his story, Elizabeth was struck with a sudden note of skepticism. _Hmm, have I not heard this story before?_ she thought wryly, but kept silent.

"When Mr. Earnshaw died, which was many years ago, Hindley became master of the house." His face hardened as he remembered. "But he also became master over me. He reduced me to a servant and treated me abominably."

"And Miss Earnshaw?" questioned Elizabeth, trying not to become too enamored with his story, for fear of losing her prized sound judgment.

"She was not made into a servant like I was, but Hindley still maintained power over her. The two of them never liked each other. To this day, I have never understood why. The only explanation I can offer is that Hindley was simply a spoiled, spiteful little man-child who cared for nobody but himself." His shoulders slumped. "Yet despite this, or perhaps, because of this, Catherine and I only became closer. We joined forces, if you will, against Hindley. We were always together." He wistfully looked upward. "I cannot really recall the moment where we realized we loved each other. But we did." He looked directly at Elizabeth, as if challenging her to say otherwise. "And we still do. Regardless of what that insolent Linton whelp says."

"Linton?"

"Edgar Linton," Heathcliff sneered his name. "Catherine's fiancé. The –"

"Yes, yes, you have made your opinion of him quite clear," said Elizabeth impatiently before he could launch into another tirade. "What I am wondering is why Miss Earnshaw has consented to marry him if she loves you. Does she love him, as well?"

"She loves his money," spat Heathcliff. "She says that once she is his bride, she will become the grandest lady in all the land. She will have all the luxury and comfort to feast upon. She loves his fancy manners and his fancy way of living."

Elizabeth frowned. "Tell me, is her brother in debt?"

Heathcliff seemed taken aback by the question. "What?"

"Is her brother in debt?" repeated Elizabeth. "Are they suffering financially?"

"No, she is not," Heathcliff said bluntly. "Her brother is a drunk and a gambler, but they still maintain possession of Wuthering Heights." A queer look entered his eyes.

"So, they are not poor? They are wealthy?"

"Reasonably so, although not as much as Edgar Linton,"

"Has Mr. Earnshaw pressured his sister to marry Edgar?"

"No. Linton proposed to her and she accepted," Heathcliff glared at her suspiciously and demanded, "Why do you ask?"

Elizabeth calmly met his gaze. "Then, Mr. Heathcliff, I fear that you are deluding yourself. She does not love you."

"Of course she does!"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Mr. Heathcliff, you have just told me that the Earnshaws are not poor in any sense. You yourself declared that the only reason that she has agreed to marry Mr. Linton is to gain his wealth. Now, why would she marry him of her own free will and not you if she were already wealthy and not in need of financial assurance? If she truly loved you, she would not willingly agree to marry him."

"No!" Heathcliff burst out, his eyes piercing her like daggers. "She loves me! She is part of me and I am part of her." He angrily gnashed his teeth. "She is my soul!"

Elizabeth fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Mr. Heathcliff," she said patiently. "Tell me, has Miss Earnshaw given you a reason as to why she will marry Mr. Linton and not you? Has she?"

"Not to me, she hasn't," he muttered angrily. "She told Nelly –"

"Nelly?"

"The housekeeper," he snapped. "I overheard her tell Nelly that it would be a disgrace for her to marry me. That it would be _beneath her_ because I am not lounging about in luxury like Linton is."

"Then she does not love you," replied Elizabeth in exasperation.

"Yes, she does!"

Elizabeth sighed. Arguing with Heathcliff was about as productive and successful as arguing with a brick wall. "She does not respect you, Mr. Heathcliff. If she did, she would not consider it beneath her to marry you, even if you do have the same status as a servant. Since she does not respect you, she does not love you. You cannot love someone if you do not respect them."

Heathcliff was not listening to her. He was still clinging onto his delusion that Catherine Earnshaw loved him as resolutely as he was striding across the moor, plowing through the field like a figurehead of a ship plowing through water. Elizabeth could only try to keep up with him and sigh. Where on earth was Fitzwilliam?

* * *

So, the spunky heroine of Pride and Prejudice has finally met the brooding beast – I mean, brooding Byronic hero of Wuthering Heights. Next chapter – Mr. Darcy meets "Heathcliff's soul."

P.S. It's been a long time since I've read Wuthering Heights, so if there are any mistakes I've made regarding the storyline, please let me know.


	2. Too Long I Roamed in the Night

Disclaimer: Pride and Prejudice and Wuthering Heights do not belong to me. Period.

"An Unexpected Encounter"

Chapter Two: Too Long I Roamed in the Night

_Thank heavens the wind has finally died down_, thought Fitzwilliam Darcy as he surveyed the bleak landscape. He was already tense with worry over Elizabeth, and the wind had only exacerbated his anxiety. Either it had been whistling at him like an impudent schoolboy or shrieking like a murder victim. When its howling had ceased at last, he felt a profound relief.

He thought it incredible that his horse had yet to suddenly bolt and flee like Elizabeth's had. It had certainly been nervous, especially when in new, unknown territory with that godforsaken wind ringing in its ears, but had been sensible enough to trust him. Darcy wished that he could trust himself as strongly. He had been searching for his wife for half an hour and he still had not found her.

He clenched the reins tightly in frustration. He sincerely hoped that he was not lost or wandering aimlessly in the same direction. The monotony of the terrain and the darkness of the night made it difficult to tell. He futilely tried to recall what direction he had first taken and where he had gone from there.

His frustration at himself soon turned into frustration at Elizabeth. God Almighty – why did the woman have to be so stubborn? He had _told_ her that the stallion that she had selected was not to be trusted; he had warned her that it was unruly and had yet to be properly trained. Yet she would not be satisfied until she had mounted it. Why? Was it for the thrill of the ride or the stallion itself? He did not know. If she had only not been so headstrong, then –

Darcy shook his head to clear his angry thoughts. What was he thinking? Elizabeth was probably alone and lost with nowhere to turn. It did not matter whose fault it had truly been. Blaming her or himself did not help matters at all. His frustration gave way to worried concern as he pictured her alone on the moors with only her horse for company. He had been racing across this area for so long that he had forgotten how cold the weather was. _I _must_ find her_, he thought determinedly. He would not stop until he had done so.

As he continued to search, he could not help but notice how utterly deserted the area was. He did not find it hard to believe; he could not imagine how people could reside here. Certainly not with that blasted wind and the stormy sky that raged above. He allowed himself a small flight of fancy by absurdly imaging Pemberley in the middle of the moor. He strongly doubted that it would retain much of its appeal then, no matter how beautiful it was.

He was distracted from his thoughts by his horse suddenly whinnying. He looked to see what had caught his steed's attention and his heart raced. There was someone else on the moor! And by the looks of it, the figure appeared to be female! His heart thumping with happiness and relief, Darcy urged his horse to a gallop.

She did not notice him at first, but at the sound of the horse galloping toward her, raised her head to see who was coming. Darcy raced toward her and opened his mouth to call out to her. But Elizabeth's name soon died in his throat once he saw that she was not, in fact, his wife. Disappointment clouded his exhilaration, but did not completely dampen his hopes. Perhaps this young lady could help him find his wife, if she herself was not already lost.

The young lady, in question, was looking at him apprehensively, as though expecting him to carry her off with him. Feeling rather embarrassed by his mistake and by his overreaction which surely must have startled her, Darcy hastily paid her the usual polite greetings and inquired about his wife. His heart sank when the young lady replied that no, she had not seen anyone, aside from him.

"As a matter of fact, I myself am searching for someone," she said briskly. "I have not found him yet, but would you mind accompanying me? I know these parts well. Perhaps we shall encounter your wife at some point; she cannot be that far away."

Darcy readily agreed and offered to share his horse, but she laughingly refused. "Oh, no, I prefer to walk, though I dearly love riding! Come down from your horse. Is not the moor a wondrous place to roam?"

Darcy privately disagreed, but said nothing and dismounted. He held the reins in one hand as he began to walk alongside her. He quickly took note of her appearance: her clothes were of fine fashion, but were disheveled, her hair was tousled from the wind. She was rather pretty, he thought, but there was something about her that did not bode well with him. He did not know why; after all, she did offer to help him.

She turned to him impulsively. "You are being awfully rude, sir. Here I am, generously offering to find your wife for you, and you have not even introduced yourself."

Darcy was not alarmed by her bluntness, since he was accustomed to hearing Elizabeth speak as such. "I beg your pardon, madam. My name is Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"Fitzwilliam Darcy," the young lady repeated. She shook her head. "No, I do not believe that I have heard of you. You must be rich, though." She took a long, bold look at him, as well as his horse. "Where are you from?"

"Pemberley, madam."

"Is it lovely?"

"I believe so,"

"Well, it cannot be as lovely as Thrushcross Grange," she declared.

"I do not know. I have never seen or heard of this Thrushcross Grange," returned Darcy.

"Well, you have never visited these parts, have you?"

"No, I have not."

"You should. I used to play here all the time when I was younger. Even now, I love to take walks here."

Darcy could not help but briefly smile as he thought of Elizabeth. "My wife enjoys taking long walks as well."

"Oh, does she? See, she could come with me," she insisted.

"Perhaps," Darcy replied, the young lady now bearing more and more resemblance to Elizabeth in his mind by her lively way of speaking.

She nodded vigorously. "Heathcliff and I used to spend hours together –"

"Heathcliff?" Darcy questioned.

Her face colored slightly. "He – he is an old friend of mine. It is he that I search for."

"Oh," Darcy decided not to pursue the subject.

Her face cleared as she looked at him, smiling mockingly. "You do not talk much, I take it?"

He shook his head. "I am afraid that I am not well-versed in the art of conversation."

"Pity," she drawled. "Your poor wife must suffer so."

"I believe she is quite accustomed to it by now," said Darcy dryly. "Although she does encourage me to practice more."

She laughed. "Practice? Well, I daresay that Heathcliff needs some as well; he can be so sulky at times."

"I suppose,"

She threw her head back and laughed again, a sharp, sudden movement that caught him by surprise. "'I suppose?' It is lucky you are handsome and rich, Mr. Darcy, otherwise your wife might have no compensation for having married such a deadly dull husband."

Darcy looked at her sharply. "I beg your pardon?"

Her smile was derisive. "Oh, come now, Mr. Darcy. I would hate to have you sulk as well. You are far too handsome to have such a stone face."

Darcy had the urge to leave her right there and then, but reminded himself that without her, he would become lost again. Coolly, he changed the subject. "You chastised me for my rudeness in failing to introduce myself. But you have not yet told me your name, madam."

"Catherine Earnshaw," she said proudly. "Soon to become Catherine Linton."

Darcy looked at her. There was smugness in her tone of voice, but there was also something else, something that he could not quite identify. "Congratulations," he said stiffly.

"I know, is it not wonderful?" she crowed. "It is he who stands to inherit Thrushcross Grange, the marvelous estate that I told you of earlier. Once we are married, I shall become the grandest lady in all the land!"

_I highly doubt that, madam,_ thought Darcy sardonically.

She glanced at him. "Well? What are you thinking about in that head of yours? Why do you not speak?"

Her attention now fully on him, Darcy said quickly, "I was simply thinking how interesting it was that you share a name with both my aunt and one of my sisters-in-laws."

"Really?" She tilted her head to the side curiously. "That is a strange coincidence. What are they like?"

Darcy smiled wryly. He had a feeling that Miss Earnshaw would not be pleased to hear that his aunt was snobbish and domineering, and that his wife's sister was petulant and silly, though at least not as much as her sister, Lydia, was. "My aunt is…very strong-willed," he said carefully. "In fact, she has very high standing in society, so naturally she is accustomed to asserting herself. As for my sister-in-law, she is of a very lively nature."

The present Catherine smiled. "They sound charming," she remarked. "I wonder if I shall ever meet them."

Darcy's wry smile deepened as he imagined his aunt meeting Miss Earnshaw. If his aunt thought that Elizabeth was intolerable, well, she would absolutely despise Catherine Earnshaw. Their meeting would not go well, he was certain of that.

"Yes," Catherine was saying, all the while, "You say that your aunt is very wealthy? Perhaps my fiancé Edgar and I shall travel to meet her after we are married. No doubt she is refined and gracious."

Darcy coughed to hide his laugh. "Exceedingly,"

"Well, Edgar's parents are," she declared. "They are very kind and very, very refined. Mrs. Linton took great pains to teach me how to be a noble lady. I was born as one, you see," she clarified to him, "but I did not know how to act as one. No," she shook her head. "I was very wild, and I still am, I think. But perhaps once I am married, all that will change. Yes, I shall be a real lady and I shall be happy."

Darcy did not know how to reply to that, so said nothing. They walked on. To Darcy's surprise, Catherine's mood seemed to fade with each passing step. Her arrogant smile slipped away as she fell into thought. She was now biting her lip anxiously, her eyes focused on the ground. He sensed a general feeling of unease about her. Softening his tone, he quietly asked, "What is ailing you, Miss Earnshaw?"

She shook her head distractedly. "Nothing, Mr. Darcy. Nothing at all."

Watching her carefully, he said slowly, "Just why are you meeting this Heathcliff fellow?"

Her head snapped up. She looked at him warily before smiling brightly. "Why…to bring him news of my impending marriage. We are such good friends and all." But her smile did not reach her eyes.

"Only friends?" he said skeptically. He had not missed the color that had risen in her cheeks again.

She opened her mouth to answer, but quickly closed it. Darcy sighed. "Miss Earnshaw," he began, "it is clear to me that you admire Mr. Linton's wealth. But allow me to ask one question, do you love him?"

Her face flushed even more, but this time it was with anger. "You sound just like my housekeeper, Nelly! Of course I do, he is handsome and rich and kind and most agreeable."

"Then why are you meeting another man alone in the middle of the night?" he said pointedly.

Again, she said nothing. "Does your fiancé know of this?" he said sternly.

She visibly winced. "No,"

"Are you planning to arrange more nightly meetings between you and this Heathcliff?"

Her chin rose. "No. I plan on letting him stay in Thrushcross Grange with us."

Darcy could not believe his ears. "Why?"

"Well, unfortunately, he is in a position much below mine," she said patronizingly. "My brother was horrid to him – stripped him of everything and made him into a servant. He is quite wild and ill-bred."

"And this is why you will not marry Heathcliff instead, I suppose?" said Darcy, his eyebrows raised.

"Well, you cannot expect a lady like me to marry someone who is so beneath me," she said haughtily. "It would be a disgrace for me to marry him, just as I told Nelly."

She did have a point, Darcy grudgingly admitted to himself. Marrying a servant would certainly bring her social ridicule and even exile. He grimaced as he remembered echoing similar sentiments in his first proposal to Elizabeth. She had been greatly offended and rightly so. But it was the truth, nevertheless.

_But I married her anyway,_ he reminded himself. He looked back at Catherine and frowned. "So, the sole reason that you will not marry Heathcliff is because he is socially inferior to you?"

"Yes,"

"Then why do you want to bring him into your home?"

"Well, to help him, of course," she said airily. "When I am married, I shall raise him above his station and improve his living." But Darcy was not fooled. Her words were nothing more than a feeble excuse, a self-righteous bluff.

"And will your future husband assist you in your noble endeavor?" he asked sarcastically.

She scowled. "No. But Edgar will have to learn to accept it. I will be mistress of the house; I should have the right to bring my friends over whenever I please."

Darcy shook his head. "Does he love you, Miss Earnshaw?"

She was caught off guard. "What do you mean? Who?"

"Edgar Linton."

"Well, of course he does," she said stoutly. "He told me he did, when he proposed."

"And does Heathcliff love you?"

She faltered in embarrassment. "Yes,"

"Can you seriously expect two men who are in love with you to live peaceably together in the same house?"

She did not reply, but hurriedly looked away from him. _Why am I so concerned?_ Darcy thought. _It is none of my business. _

His thoughts were interrupted when Catherine abruptly said, "You cannot judge me, Mr. Darcy! You do not know the whole story." Her words were defiant and fierce.

"I do not," he conceded. "And I am not judging anyone, Miss Earnshaw. But I do believe that you are making a grave error."

She fixed him with a determined look. "Would you mind if I told it to you? The moor is vast and we have not found anyone yet. They must be further away than I thought."

"If it pleases you," he said calmly. After she opened her mouth to speak, he immediately regretted his words. Miss Earnshaw clearly loved to talk and her story was ensured to be long. _Whatever it takes to find Elizabeth_, he thought wearily as Catherine proceeded to tell him her story of woe.


End file.
